


Blue Screen of Love

by Because_Of_Xaela



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex doesn't know that John knows, Alex is an IT guy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, How Do I Tag, I swear, Its actually really cute, John Knows, M/M, Nervous John, No Smut, Or does he, at least i tried to make him flirty, but it's not, flirty alex, i am proud, this is my offspring, this sounds like porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Because_Of_Xaela/pseuds/Because_Of_Xaela
Summary: John gets the dreaded Blue Screen of Death at the same time his WiFi craps out on him. His night is ruined until he remembers that the cute guy who lives two doors down from him is an IT guy. He'll be willing to help, right?





	Blue Screen of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever work posted...anywhere. This fandom and this ship are my life, and I'm glad I can finally contribute to it! Enjoy, and please leave feedback!

The leather of John's computer chair was just getting warm again as he sat back down with his second hot cup of tea. All he expected to do was answer a few more work e-mails, respond to his fellow interns who ultimately, without fail, would have questions about those e-mails, and check up on his Google Play Newsstand, see what he missed on the morning news today. What he did not expect, once he set his coffee mug down and shuffled the papers on his desk around so they were no longer covering his keyboard, was to look up and see...that.

"Shit."

John was staring at a bright blue screen and lines of white error code covering the monitor. He didn't even have to read the message. He knew what this was. Everyone knew what this was. This was an utter tragedy. He was already mourning for his hardware and the loss of all his data. "Shit," he said again, louder this time, inching forward on his chair to get a closer look at the screen, as if there was some hidden line in the words on his monitor, as if there was something secretly embedded in the pixels in one of the corners saying, "lol jk", as if he could fix the problem by staring down the treasonous lines of text that had gone and, officially, ruined his night. "Shit!" he said again. And again. Another, this time, with a string of other colorful expletives following it. A few more times for good measure. Once more, accompanied by a swift slap to the side of his screen. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing to fix the issue. Neither did his vulgarity. Still, he shouted a few more times before he realized this. He probably wouldn't have even stopped, if he hadn't remembered he lived in an apartment building, and noise complaints were a very real, very ominous threat. This was enough to silence him, but ever more ominous was the Blue Screen of Death that still glared back at him, challenging him. It was just daring him to throw it against the wall. John didn't.

Instead, he took a deep breath, stood up from his chair, ran his fingers through the curls at the top of his head, took another deep breath, and tried looking up how to actually solve the problem he was faced with on his phone. Except he couldn't.

Google wouldn't load. The light blue loading bar, that was, at first, a welcome contrast to the obnoxiously bright blue screen that awaited him back in his office, was stuck halfway across the top of his phone. John swiped down to reload the page. It didn't budge. Did it again. Nope. He checked his connection it said his signal was strong, what was the problem? He tried turning the WiFi off on his phone and back on. Nada. He tried unplugging and replugging in the router. No difference. His WiFi had gone the way of the dinosaurs. And it just had to happen at the very same time his computer did. And it just had to be eight o'clock at night, when the building's maintenance center was closed, and any tech support lines would already be shut down for the day. And he just had to have no prior technological knowledge or experience. And--

Tech support. John said the words out loud, as images of a pale orange Polo shirt with an inscription of some IT support center that he couldn't remember the name of flashed in his mind's eye. In quick succession, came visions of shoulder-length dark hair, neatly tied in the back, thinly rimmed glasses settled on the bridge of a prominent nose, high cheekbones, flushed from tiredness, and carrying a laptop bag on a right shoulder. The cute guy who lived two doors down. He worked in tech support. As suddenly as the idea entered his head to knock on his door and ask for help, it was flushed out and drowned by waves of excuses as to why he should not. Why he could not. Why he would not.

No, he wouldn't. It was eight o'clock. P.M. It was dark outside. Cute Guy Two Doors Down could be asleep. Unlikely, but a possibility nonetheless. And what would he even say? 'Hey, the first time I saw you come down the hall once, I thought you were super hot, so I checked you out for a long-ass time while you fiddled with the strap on your shoulder and noticed literally everything about you, including the fact that you work at an IT support place, so could you come into my apartment, even though we've never spoken before, and help me fix my Blue Screen of Death and WiFi? I probably won't pay you, by the way.' There was no possible way he could work out why he would specifically ask Cute Guy Two Doors Down for his help without revealing he was some creepy stalker who memorized everything about his appearance from the small handful of times he'd seen him. He could have just asked one of the other neighbors. Or maybe he couldn't. They're all old people anyway. They probably wouldn't know how to work a toaster, let alone how to fix a router and hardware system. He could use that as an excuse.

But wasn’t that, like, really rude? John guessed that insulting the elderly was not the best way to start the first-ever conversation he was potentially about to have with Cute Guy Two Doors Down. He could play it off as funny. John was good at that. Right? John shook his head, trying to clear it of his rambling thoughts. This personal doubt was beginning to lead into the "questioning the realm of my own existence" zone, and he didn't want to pull on that thread right now. Try as he might, John couldn't think of any other solution. His data plan sucked, and he didn't want to rely on his 4G for the rest of the night. His phone bill would skyrocket. He at least needed his WiFi back. And besides, the worst that can happen is Cute Guy Two Doors Down turns out to be totally straight, and even if you don't get a date, you still get a fixed router. Wait. A date? John couldn't go into this exchange aiming for that. That would be even creepier. Cute Guy Two Doors Down could think he screwed up his own night on purpose, just to get him into his apartment? And then what would he think of him? A creepy stalker at best. A serial killer at worst.

John had made up his mind. He could just ask for a favor. That's not weird. Come off as the really nice guy, just desperate for his WiFi back. If Cute Guy Two Doors Down was nice enough (and not asleep; that was still a possibility), not only could he maybe get his WiFi fixed, but he could at least start a conversation with him. John's been wanting to do that for ages, right? Perfect icebreaker. He hoped. Still, just in case of was the possibility of Cute Guy Two Doors Down being anything other than heterosexual, John didn't want to look like crap for him.  
He ended up spending ten minutes in the mirror, even after he was all fixed up in clean jeans and a nice purple t-shirt. He questioned everything about his appearance that, on any other occasion, he wouldn’t have even noticed in the first place (“Have I always had this many freckles? What even is this one between my eyebrows? It’s the only one there! Does it look like a pimple from far away?). He smoothed and re-smoothed out the wrinkles, that were arguably not even there, at least twenty times before realizing that time was ticking. And with each passing second, there was a greater chance that Cute Guy Two Doors Down would be asleep. The last time he was this nervous was before his high school prom. Ugh, don’t pull on that thread either.

His apartment was clean. Cluttered in the way that was, he hoped, endearing, and...characteristic? Cleaning it too much would seem like he was trying too hard, that it wasn’t as spontaneous as he wanted the visit to seem. But mostly he just didn’t want to clean it. He sprayed that one pillow that smelled weird (but was really comfortable and thus John refused to throw it out) with Febreze, though. Then, as a second thought, the entire couch. And then the rest of the room. Because he could. With anxiety in his heart and the scent of raspberries in his nose, he opened the door, leaving the lights on in the main room, and walked out. Should he have put on shoes?

John’s conscious was rapid-fire. ‘Control your breathing, John. He’s a cute guy. There are plenty of cute guys out there. You don’t get this nervous talking to them. Oh, but he’s Cute Guy Two Doors Down, this is way different. How? Because he’s like...super cute. And he can probably fix my WiFi...which is what you’re asking him to do in the first place, John, remember.’ When John reached the door, he realized that Cute Guy Two Doors Down was no longer two doors down. He was in front of him, and probably a little to the left unless he was standing right inside the doorframe. The title he had unconsciously given him no longer seemed fitting. He needed a name. ‘Make that your goal, John. Get a name. And get him to fix your WiFi. Hopefully.

And so John knocked. He couldn’t tell anyone how many times he knocked, or the forcefulness of it, not that anybody would ask. But he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone because by the time he registered that he had even knocked at all, Cute Guy Two Doors Down was standing in front of him. And…

Oh my.

The neat ponytail of dark hair that had too often took home in his passing thoughts was let loose, falling around his shoulders like silk drapes. ‘Poetic,’ he thought. Without the glare from his glasses, John could see they were classic, oaky brown. It seemed fitting. John was just beginning to admire the dip of his v-neck and the prominence of his collarbone when a shift happened in Cute Guy Two Doors Down’s eyes, and John saw the formation of a question on his tongue.

He spoke before he could stop himself. Not that he wanted to. “Hey, I’m John,” he continued after a pause. “John Laurens. I live two doors down. I’m really sorry to bother you this late at night, but my apartment’s router completely crapped out on me, and the devil himself seems to have possessed my computer,” A smile from the guy. A really pretty smile. Don’t screw this up, John. “and I know that the only other neighbors are...elderly,” Shit. Well, too late to stop now. “and I figured I’d have a much greater chance of getting at least the WiFi back up and running if I asked you. I suck with computers.” That was good, right? Casual, not too...ageist? Not too creepy? Good.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

Huh, that was easy.

“Really?”

“Yeah, lemme just grab my manual. You actually,” he opened the door a little wider to reach next to the door and grab a book, “came to the right place. I work for an IT company.”

“Really?” John thought maybe the fake surprise in his voice wavered a little.

“Yeah. My name’s Alexander, by the way. Hamilton. You can just call me Alex, though.” He stuck out his hand. John, for a second, heard the name ringing throughout his ears. It seemed to flow through him, like a critical piece of world-changing knowledge had been acquired. Hearing the name, it made John feel...fuzzy. He shook Alex’s hand, hoping to God it wasn’t too sweaty. Alex didn’t wipe his hand on himself, though, so that was a good sign.

“Yeah, I’ll just, uh, lead the way,” John said, and he heard a little chuckle from Alex. He felt fuzzier.

“I don’t think you have very far to lead me.” The tone of that sentence was ambiguous, and John turned around to read his facial expression, hoping to God it wasn’t one of annoyance. Alex had an easy, resting smile on his face. The book was tucked under his arm, and his hands were in his jeans’ pockets, thumbs hooked out. His posture alone put John at ease. He felt the little remaining nervousness in his bones fizzle out into airy bubbles. They left him softly, without resistance, and John was glad.

Alex followed John into his apartment, and John studiously showed him the way to where his router was plugged in, lights flashing in trickery, falsely signaling that everything was alright when, in fact, it was not. “This’ll sound dumb, but did you un--”

“Unplug it and plug it back in?” John cracked a smile. “Yeah, that was the first thing I tried. It’s about all I know how to do though, you’re my only hope until maintenance can come tomorrow, but their customer service is awful.”

Alex kneeled down onto the floor to pick up the router and flip it over. “Your knowledge of technology already spans farther than most of the people I talk to on the phone every day. ‘Wait, there’s a plug?’” Alex mimicked an old lady’s creaky voice. At John’s incredulous face, Alex explained further, “Yeah, I got that one just today. And don’t worry, my customer service happens to be amazing. I get compliments from my boss all the time.”

“I believe it, I like you already,” John said without thinking. There was a pause in the air, at which point John half expected Alex to leave if he was secretly an asshole. He just as much expected Alex to make a weird face and just continue working, albeit reluctantly, clearly uncomfortable with the comment. In which case John would be thoroughly disappointed, even if he didn’t admit it to himself. It wasn’t even a super gay comment. Most straight boys just don’t say that to each other, and John was afraid he’d be too obvious.

Alex did none of the aforementioned things, though. He just smiled. Smiled his bright smile and continued fiddling with the router, presumably trying to make sure there was no physical damage to it. Alex was either not a heteronormativity-praising asshole, or not a heterosexual himself. Either way, John was ecstatic.

“Can I see your phone?” Alex asked, quite suddenly, just as John had settled onto his couch across the room.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, that sounded weird. Just, uh, pull up a social media app, or something, see if it works.”

“Okay…” John trailed off as he tried to open Twitter, but it wouldn’t start. The blue logo stared at him for the longest time, before he crouched down next to Alex and showed him the screen. He tilted the phone up to his face and seemed to have a realization.

“It’s not the WiFi, it’s the cable. You still have a WiFi symbol up in the corner, but nothing is working because the WiFi only functions through the cable. So your WiFi signal can be as strong as it wants, but if there’s no cable…” Alex let John finish the thought for himself, placing the router back in its spot. “It’s a common problem, gimme 10 minutes to see what I can do. If it craps out again, though, I’d look into getting new cable or switching providers.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” John said, and he really meant it. But not about the router. He meant it more, now that they were both kneeling together on the ground and staring at each other, admittedly closer to each other than was probably appropriate. John hadn’t even noticed Alex had put his glasses back on until now. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was thanking Alex for at that point, maybe it was for Alex not being asleep when John had knocked, or for not saying ‘no’ to his face. Maybe John was just thanking him for existing in all his beauty, being in his very presence. John turned his face away, likely red, before he could dive too deep.

Alex cleared his throat like he was trying to get rid of words that were stuck there, and got down on all fours. He clambered behind the table, into a mess of dust bunnies and wires that John should have been in the right mind to clean before Alex came over. Now John felt guilty. Alex was getting his nice jeans dirty. And boy, were they nice. John tried really, really hard not to stare at his butt. He really did. But it was just...there...right in front of him…

John internally disciplined himself and looked away. He looked back one more time before looking away again. God, he needed a distraction. “Do you want anything to drink?” It was the first harmless thing that came to mind. “I have water, tea, coffee, some orange juice if you want it…” He trailed off.

“Coffee is fine if you don’t mind,” Alex replied, voice muffled by the table he was under.

“Yeah sure, I’ve got decaf somewhere in here,” John got up to go rummage through his cabinet. 

“Who said anything about decaf?” This stopped John in his tracks. He turned around to see Alex peering up at him, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Um, society? It’s half-past eight. At night. You want caffeine now?"

“I never sleep,” Alex shrugged. “Black. Just a little sugar.” He listed off his order to John, as if ‘I never sleep’ was an answer to all his questions. Now, John just had more. There was a little more to him than John thought. This tiny piece of new information seemed very enlightening, and John wanted to know more. Why didn’t Alex sleep? What kept him awake, besides the coffee? When he did sleep, was it on his side? His back? Did he sleep with his hair up? Did he have a tendency to fall asleep at a work desk like John? What did he dream about? ‘I need to stop.’ Yet, this shed Alex in a completely different light, and it was by no means an unpleasant one. John wanted to see how bright Alex could really be in his life. Pleasantly smiling, he went off to go brew a fresh cup for him. When he returned, Alex was still on the ground but had evidently fiddled with the wires and buttons on the router enough that he was putting it back in its place with finality. Was he done? “All fixed,” he said, dusting himself off as he stood. “Give it about ten more minutes and turn it back on, should be rebooted. Sometimes just unplugging it isn’t enough.”

“Uh, well, thanks.” John handed him his coffee and Alex gratefully took it, barely giving it a chance to cool off before taking a sip. Alex looked like the flavor alone was enough to keep him awake the whole night. “Keep a note on your body acquitting me of all blame when you overdose on caffeine.”

And there he went again. With that stupid, stupid, handsome, stupid, beautiful, stupid, stupid smile. But it was gorgeous. And stupid. For being so perfect. “I’ll do that.” There was a moment of silence that softened to a kind of comfortability in the room. It was one John hadn’t experienced in a while. The air was easier to breathe, and John’s heart thumped just a little harder as if trying to fill the silence itself. “So, you said something about a computer?”

“What?” John had literally forgotten the first problem that got him into this...mess? No, that was the opposite of what he’d call tonight, now. He almost took a moment to thank his outdated computer for “ruining” it.

“Something about the devil possessing it? I mean, I’m an IT guy, not an exorcist. Supernatural anomalies are a bit of a gray area in my job description, but I can give it a try,” Alex cracked. John felt his face heat up and was sure he turned at least three shades redder.

“No, no, I mean.--” John took a breath to settle the flustered feeling in his chest. “I got BSoD’d.” Alex’s mouth dropped open comically wide, but still smiling, nonetheless.

“You think I can fix a Blue Screen of Death with some shitty tech manual and my bare hands?” It would have sounded rude if it weren’t for Alex’s continuous giggling through the question. It was contagious, John found.

“Well, I still figure you know more than me. Is there anything you can do? I’d hate to have to trash my laptop, I don’t have that kind of money right now; I’m just an intern.”

Alex looked skeptical but retained the look of empathy in his eyes. His gorgeous eyes. “If you got BSoD’d, it means your hard drive is shot. You’re probably looking at some pretty hefty data loss, too…” he trailed off when he heard John give yet another swear under his breath. He recognized the sound, and the smirk that fitted so well on his face reappeared. “Ah. So that was you I heard swearing like a sailor.”

John turned even redder. “Oh, sorry about that, I’ve got a pretty foul mouth, I guess have to work on that. You’re not going to...file a complaint or anything, right?”

“Oh, fuck if I care.” Alex matched his profanity in an attempt to put John at ease, and it worked. Both their shoulders relaxed. Alex’s eyes, which John had noticed he had become quite transfixed with, seemed to make a decision. His words reiterated his thoughts, “Tell you what, I can take your computer into work with me tomorrow, where there’s more equipment for dealing with this kind of stuff, and see what I can do.” Alex was talking quickly and breezed through the sentence in one breath. He didn’t seem to notice his mistake in his own forwardness until after he was done talking. He took a step back from John and immediately started on damage control. “That’s...actually really weird, I’m just realizing. Sorry, I know we just met; I wouldn’t trust a stranger with my laptop either.” He went silent and looked at the floor after that.

It hurt John to see Alex dejected, even though he was probably right. As promising as Alex seemed, either as a friend or more, John didn’t feel comfortable just handing over his laptop as easily as a cup of coffee. But God, he missed the bright smile on Alex’s face and was willing to do anything to get it back. ‘Here we go.’ “Yeah...you don’t have to be a stranger though.”

Alex’s head snapped back up, the slightly guilty look in his eyes evaporated by a rejuvenated spark of enthusiasm. The rest of his face eventually caught up to his eyes, and the playful, almost flirty, smirk Alex often wore made an encore appearance. “Oh really?” He reclaimed the step he took back.

‘Yes,’ John said in his head. Alex’s face hadn’t changed, though, and he realized the words hadn’t left his mouth yet. “Yes,” he tried again, then cleared his throat after his voice wavered. “You like coffee, right?” He gestured to the mug still warm in Alex’s hands. “Coffee. With me. This weekend. My treat. As...a thank you, for fixing my WiFi. It’s the least I can do.” John’s heart was no longer just trying to fill the room but was beating so hard John was sure its goal was to crush the whole apartment building under its incessant rattling. He had done it. He had invited Cute Guy Two Doors Down to his apartment, learned his name, had a genuine conversation. Felt some (definite?) homo-undertones, if John’s refined gaydar was anything to go by. He put himself out there. He actually did something he convinced himself he would never do. No matter how this went, no matter what Alex said next, John was proud of himself. Nothing could change that.

“No.”

Well.

John’s heart broke. His world shattered. His mind spun. His voice evaporated. His throat burned. His chest ached. His head pounded. His self-image crumbled. His dreams, his hopes, his wishes. Gone. Down the drain. John reconciled himself to his fate of crying pathetically over a pint of ice cream tonight. Could already feel the tears coming when Alex’s bright smile returned and, Lord, John was about to fling himself out the window, and let an NYC taxi cab finish him off on the street.

“To the last part, I mean.”

“What?”

“Coffee. With you. This weekend. Your treat,” Alex repeated, and stuck out a finger to poke John’s chest. He felt something in his toes shake. “but, not as ‘the least you can do.’ Not a ‘thank you’. If anything, John Laurens, it will be a date.”

John’s heart mended. His world restructured. His mind settled. His voice returned. His throat soothed. His chest puffed. His head calmed. His self-image restored. His dreams, his hopes, his wishes. Returned. Filled his soul. John really needed to take a deep breath. So he did. And Alex noticed, laughed, and reached over to John’s counter to grab a pen. John’s eyes followed his movements. Biting the cap off, Alex wrote down ten digits on the back of John’s hand. If John had stared at them long enough, he figured he might find the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Alexander, he supposed, was one of those mysteries.

“My number. Or you can always knock on my door again, neighbor.” The implication that that word was no longer the most accurate title for their relationship to each other made John’s head swim. He couldn’t find his own words. He opted for Alex’s instead.

“It’ll be a date.”

Alex walked out of his life that night only to return that weekend at John’s Favorite Coffee Shop Three Blocks Away. He returned many times after that. It wasn’t until their third date that John gathered the courage enough to tell Alex that he knew Alex had been an IT worker before he ever brought him to his apartment. Alex cuddled closer to John and responded with a kiss on his nose, “How stupid do you think I am?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and Kudos, as well as constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!  
> Funny story, I meant to send this to my boyfriend for him to read and ended up sending it to his mom--sounds like some shitty tv sitcom, I know. Anyway, his twin sister was on their mom's phone at the time and she was super chill and even read some of it before he deleted the link from her phone. The screenshots were hilarious, to say the least.


End file.
